by Renee Rose
Pepper
After the MRI, Tony drives the rental Range Rover toward Beverly Hills. I’m not sure what it says that I’m not even slightly tempted to ask for a visit to my parents’ house. Well, technically, it’s my house, but I bought it for them. Or they bought it with my money, depending on how you look at it.
When Tony pulls up in front of a mansion with a moving truck and cop car sitting in front, though, I sit up and pay attention.
“This is Hugh’s place,” I say. My voice, after resting all day, comes out perfectly clear.
Tony’s already getting out of the vehicle, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He stops and points a warning finger at me, and I totally lose my cool. Enough with acting like he’s in charge of me. It may have been fun when his hands were on my hips and his cock was buried deep inside me, but now? Real life shit? Not so much. And whatever is going down here is not going to be pretty.
I get out and slam the door. “What in the hell is going on?”
Tony’s jaw tightens, but he chooses to ignore me, walking instead toward the thugs who are standing around the cop car, talking to the police while dialing a number on his phone. “Yeah, Hugh. I’m at your house. I need you to tell the police that we’re supposed to be here moving your shit out.”
Even trailing five feet behind Tony I can hear Hugh’s voice explode on the other end. First he yells, then there’s talking. Wheedling, I’m sure.
Tony holds the phone away from his ear, ignoring the whole thing. “Tell them now, Hugh.” He walks up to the police, radiating confidence. “Mr. Baleshire hired us to move his furniture. I have him on the phone here.” He holds out the phone.
The cop casts him a scornful look, but takes the phone and holds it to his ear. I stand back and watch while Tony leans against the moving truck, casual as can be. Like he always breaks into houses and empties them of their furniture while the police look on.
Somehow, it does work out that way, though. The cop on the phone takes down some information and goes to his vehicle. When he returns, he speaks to his partner and the two of them get in their car and drive away.
Tony takes a look inside the moving truck. Inside is Hugh’s grand piano—the one he doesn’t know how to play—and his leather couches, La-Z-Boy, oriental rugs, dining room table, and everything else that was on the first floor.
“Okay, carry on. Leave the personal shit unless it can be easily sold. Just get all the furniture to auction and let me know what you get for it, capiche?” Tony directs the men.
“You got it, boss,” the guys say, and get back to work loading the truck.
I’m suddenly ice cold. And sick to my stomach.
Whatever story I’d told myself about Tony Brando was bullshit. The man is a criminal. A dangerous, evil man.
If he’s emptying Hugh’s house, mine will be next.
Hell, maybe his guys are already over there now, telling my parents to get out and hand over the keys.
I turn and stumble back to the Range Rover, blinking back tears. I don’t even know why I’m crying. Not for Hugh. He totally deserves this.
I guess because my situation just got real again. I’m with a criminal. Probably a killer.
My life is in danger. My parents’ lives are in danger.
I could lose everything.
I climb in the back seat of the Range Rover because I can’t stomach the thought of sitting next to Brando.
He gives me a glance when he gets back in, but doesn’t comment, just drives.
When I see we’re going to the airport and not my house, next, I croak, “Was that stop for my benefit?”
“No.”
I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t look in the rear view mirror at me.
For some reason, I get the idea that he’s sorry, but I push it away. That’s me making up stories again. I always want to believe the best in people: in my band members, the crew, in Hugh, in my parents. Because to believe differently is too terrifying. It would mean I am utterly alone in this world. No one on my side.
But sticking my head in the sand is how I got into this shitstorm in the first place. Letting Hugh use my name and credit to buy his new house. Believing in his projections for my new album. Letting him push me into making crappy recycled music instead of the real art I started with.
I’ve lost myself so completely I don’t know who I am. Who to trust. Where to turn.
A tear slides down my cheek. I brush it away.
I just have to get through this next month and then this will all be over.
Just twenty shows and I never have to see Tony Brando or the Bellissimo again.
Pepper
My mom calls when I’m back in my room.
“Hi, Mom,” I rasp. “I’m not supposed to be talking.”
“Oh honey, you lost your voice?”
“Yeah.”
“Can’t Hugh cancel your shows? You could fly home and rest for a few days.”
“That would be great, Mom, but it’s not possible.” My dad knows, but we haven’t told my mom about the situation with the Tacones. My dad basically thinks my mom is made of glass and doesn’t want to break her. That’s what happens after a cancer scare.
“Well, talk to Hugh. You’re so close to L.A. It would be easy to zip on home.”
Home. First of all, it’s not my home, it’s theirs. The one they bought with my money. Second, I was in L.A. today, not that I’m going to tell her that.
“You could come here, Mom. Fly out to see my show.” Damn the hopeful kid note that creeps into my voice.
“Oh, I don’t know, honey. I’m not sure I’m up for travel. Besides, who would feed Mr. Furry?”
“Right.” Hope bleeds black and crimson. My mom has been cancer-free for a year now, but in a way, I still lost her. I lost both my parents to their fear. Or to their comforts. Sometimes I think they’re so happy being rich, spending my money, they forgot how to live. Or that I might still need them.
But that’s stupid. I don’t need them. And keeping them far away from the Tacones is probably my best bet. No, my situation is still the same—get through the next twenty shows, get the debt paid off and then I can lick my wounds.
Head down, nose to the grindstone. Same thing I’ve been doing for the last seven years.
Chapter 6
Tony
Pepper Heart is no less mesmerizing on stage the second night. I’m in the special box seat area overlooking the stage, along with Nico, his brother Stefano, and their partners, Sondra and Corey.
“So, you’re telling me she’s lip synching.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, infused with all the disappointment and condemnation I deserve. Nico gives me one of those looks he’s cultivated; the kind that says heads are gonna roll. Even considering he’s been my best friend since we were twelve, it still sort of works on me.
He’s the boss, after all. I was raised to bend my knee to the don, his father. I owe the man my life. My ma and I would probably both be dead by now if he hadn’t given me a gun and permission to take our future and safety into my own hands. And when I did, he cleaned up my mess and gave me a job. Be Nico’s back up. His bodyguard, if he needs it.
My mom and I never wanted for anything after that. We were fed, clothed, housed. Protected. I became part of the family and that held weight. We no longer cowered and feared for our lives in our own house.
“Yeah. I know. Bobby and Leo cleaned out the manager’s house today for fucking me on this. She’s been sick for three weeks, and he didn’t give me a call to talk it over.”
Nico broods while Sondra, his new bride, bops beside her cousin Corey, singing along. The men are here for their women, who wanted to come to the show and meet Pepper afterward.
“You gonna let this go on? Even if the audience doesn’t pick it up, the set, the crew, our people are gonna notice by the time she’s played an identical show ten nights in a row.”
I rub my face, my gut tight with the decision I already made. “I’
m gonna cancel. Give her a week off, reschedule the shows and hope she heals fast.”
Nico raises his brows but doesn’t comment. After a minute, he says, “Yeah, that’s the only option. You cleaned out the manager?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Clean out the parents, too, if you need to. Put them on warning to get their shit together.”
My skin pricks with unease. I couldn’t even bring myself to threaten her parents today. I couldn’t bring myself to do a goddamn thing, even when she disobeyed me by using her voice. The moment I realized she was afraid—of me—I felt sick.
Nico watches Pepper strut around the stage for a few minutes. “What aren’t you telling me?” He doesn’t turn to look at me.
I startle like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
“You having a hard time leaning on her?” Of course Nico would know my weak spot.
“Yeah. Hard time not fucking her, too.”
Now he turns, his brows flying up in surprise. “Yeah?” He looks back at Pepper, the glimmer of a smile appearing on his lips.
“I mean, I already did,” I admit.
“Col cavolo!”
“But I won’t again.” A lie. I haven’t stopped thinking of the things I want to do to Pepper Heart if she ever looks at me again.
But she won’t. I made sure of that this afternoon.
“She’s hot,” Nico says, like he’s just now seeing it. My hands close into fists. I don’t give a shit if he’s my best friend, I want to smash his face in for looking at her body. Not that every stronzo in the place isn’t eyeing up those perfect legs. That flat, bare belly.
Pepper finishes with her finale and we duck backstage so the women can meet our starlet. I would feel guilty about making her meeting the boss’ wife, except, yeah, she owes the Tacones nine hundred grand. So if they bother to come hear her sing, she can damn well kiss up to them after the show.
We get backstage and I see Pepper, standing in front of her dressing room, getting chewed out by Hugh.
I can’t hear the words, but anger between them is obvious in their posture. A blue-haired woman—the stage manager, I think—hovers nearby like she’s ready to intervene if necessary. I gnash my teeth when Hugh pokes his finger at her.
“You know what? Fuck you!” We all hear her words, loud and clear.
“Stop yelling. Do not use your voice.”
“I will damn well use my voice when I need to. Don’t pretend this situation is anyone’s fault but your own.” Pepper blows out her voice again, her vocal chords cutting out on the last words.
Hugh’s hand shoots out and he slaps her across the face.
“Hey, back off!” the stage manager yells.
I snap, black and red violence bleeding into my vision as I lunge forward, closing the distance in three long strides. I slam Hugh up against a wall. My hand missed his throat, catching his face instead, so he’s pinned with half his face smashed against the plaster.
“Tony!” I dimly hear the scratch of Pepper’s voice, but I’m not done with Hugh.
“You don’t lay a hand on her. You don’t ever fucking touch her, do you understand me?”
Pepper’s bodyguard hovers nearby, but does nothing.
“Get off me,” Hugh sputters. “I’m trying to keep her from using her voice—for you.”
I release his jaw to slap his face. Yeah, I could smash his nose, but sometimes a slap is more humiliating. Plus, I gotta give back what he gave to her. “Don’t you fucking put that on me. If you were worried about me or your debt to the Tacones, you’d be treating the talent like the queen of fucking England.” I grip his throat this time, closing my fist around his windpipe.
“Has he hit you before?” I ask Pepper. Her stage manager stands at her shoulder, showing solidarity without physical contact.
When I look at her, I grow even more enraged, because she’s terrified, her face pale except for the pink fingerprints on her cheek, her brown eyes wide. Somewhere through the fog of anger, I know it’s me she’s afraid of, but that only pisses me off more.
“Has he?” I snap.
She shakes her head. “N-no.”
“Corey, Sondra, why don’t you take Ms. Heart somewhere else?” It’s Stefano who suggests it. In the back of my mind, I know it’s to keep Pepper from witnessing the violence, my violence, but I still can’t get my temper in check.
The women, all four of them, leave.
“And what the fuck are you doing?” I growl at her bodyguard. “You just stand there and let this guy hit her?”
“No, man. You just got there first,” he says, which may be true, but I’m not buying it. The little slip of a stage manager was more ready to jump in and save Pepper than he was.
I punch Hugh in the gut, then summon enough willpower to release him and step back. Stefano and Nico stand behind me, watching the whole thing coolly. They wouldn’t interfere, even if I totally went completely off the rails. They come from the same violent world I do, even if they’re trying to distance themselves from it.
“Show’s cancelled for the next week,” I inform Hugh. He’s doubled over, holding his ribs. “Everyone who’s part of the show will remain here, in the casino, during the hiatus. No more tricks, no funny business. I’m running this production now. Capiche?”
Hugh staggers up, sweat dripping down his hairline. “Yeah, I got it.” He has the nerve to look pissed off.
I start to walk away, toward Nico and Stefano. “Oh, and meet the Tacone brothers.” I wave a hand in their direction. “The men holding your balls in a vise right now.”
I don’t wait for a response. The three of us walk off, like nothing just happened, leaving Hugh wheezing and coughing in the hall.
Pepper
“Are they going to kill him?” I finally work up the courage to ask. My voice is raspy and sore from yelling at Hugh.
We’re naked—all four of us: me, Izzy and the two Tacone women, Corey and Sondra—lounging in the Bellissimo spa’s jacuzzi. The spa is closed, but Corey had a key.
When they led me away, Corey said, “All right, this is operation Rescue Pepper. What do you want? A stiff drink? Food? A long soak in the jacuzzi?”
I think she was half-joking about the jacuzzi, but I was all over it. My body can use every bit of pampering it can get. They decided the closed spa would be far better than the pool outside, especially considering none of had our suits with us.
“No,” Corey answers my question about Hugh, playing with the bubbles. “I mean, I doubt it.” She flicks a glance at Sondra, who we learned is her cousin and the new wife of the owner of the casino. She’s engaged to the brother, Stefano.
“Definitely not,” Sondra agrees, but neither of them look as certain as they sound.
“Well, he seriously deserves whatever he gets,” Izzy says bitterly. She’s more pissed off about Hugh’s assault on me than I am.
Of course, she doesn’t know that Hugh just had his house cleaned out by Tony and company and that’s why he’s lashing out at me. The man is definitely on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Not that I’m not.
I touch my face where Hugh slapped me. It still smarts a little, but I don’t think it will bruise. It’s already better.
“Do you need some ice for that?” Corey asks. She has a bucket of ice beside her, because she had room service deliver us champagne and a fruit and cheese platter, as well as hot tea with honey for me. She shoves it toward me, but I shake my head and down my champagne instead. Alcohol is on the list the doctor gave me of things I shouldn’t do, but I’ve had a long day.
“Tony’s usually a big teddy bear,” Sondra says. “But he can’t stand seeing a woman hurt. There’s some story there about his dad, but I don’t know exactly what. Just that Nico’s dad helped him out of a rough situation and now he’s loyal to the core, unless it comes to someone hurting a woman.”
I shake my head and sink deeper into the hot water, trying to resist the rush of sympathy that bubbles up for Tony. Of
course he’d be from a violent home. How else do you get into the mob?
And now I know why he was so offended when I suggested he would force me into sex.
I wriggle in the hot water. I still feel everywhere he’s been. My anus is a little tender from his thumb, the front of my pelvis sore from the sink. It was definitely the hottest sex I’ve ever had. With a man who is probably beating up my manager right now for slapping me.
He’s not a hero.
He’s not a hero.
Why does it feel like he’s kind of my hero? I don’t like the way the barricades I built against him are starting to crumble and fall.
I eye the cousins. They seem like smart women—kind, even. What are they doing with mafia men? I want to ask, but I can’t figure out how to phrase it in a way that won’t piss them off. I’ve had enough piss-off for today. Right now it’s nice to have friendlies around for a change.
Sondra pours more champagne in our glasses. “Well, I know you don’t really want to be at the Bellissimo, but I have to say when I heard you were coming, I was stoked. I’m a huge fan.”
“Same,” Corey says.
“Pepper puts on a great show,” Izzy says, lifting her champagne glass to me.
“You don’t even like my music.”
Her eyes pop out, like she’s shocked I noticed. Like I don’t know her musical taste and what she listens to on her Spotify channel. She sets her champagne glass down and leans forward. “That’s not true. I love your early stuff.”
“You just think I’m a sold out pop star now.”
She shrugs. “Well, you are.”
It’s the truth. We both know it, but having it said out loud to me, does something horrible to my insides. Half my face feels like crying—the right half. I know that doesn’t even make sense, but I feel the weight there, the sagging grief. Maybe the other half had already admitted this plain-stated fact.
The two Bellissimo women watch us, wide-eyed.
“I’ve often wondered why you stuck around,” I scratch out.